The Partner, the Pool, and the Pet
by Heroicagal
Summary: The POV of the end of "The Great Game" through the eyes of the three players, each with a unique perspective of their own. First Sherlock, then John, then Moriarty.
1. Chapter 1

The Partner

**Sherlock's POV**

"I brought you a little getting to know you present." I say, striding in with confidence, ready to face my foe for the first time. "It's what it's all been for isn't it?" I hold up the thumb drive, trying to goad them out. "All your puzzles, making me dance; all to distract me from this." I look around expectantly but when that door opens I can honestly say I'm surprised. My colleague steps forward in a rather large and ridiculous winter parka. I stare and hope that this isn't true, that it isn't what it seems to be.

"Evening." John says with a blank expression. "This is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock?"

"John, what the h***-"I start to ask when he interrupts me.

"Bet you never saw this coming." He continues. I walk forward and see something is off. His eyes are blinking in a set pattern. Morse code from the looks of it, Morse code for "SOS, basic training for soldiers like himself in hostage situations. As opens his jacket the pieces fall into place.

"What- would you like me- to make him say- next?" John repeats what are obviously the words of the bomber. A red dot is shining on the explosives strapped to the vest on his chest. I look around for anyone else, the bomber, the sniper, and Dr. Watson is forced to continue.

"Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' g-"He says, and I grow angry at the humiliation and implementation of the statement. That he is nothing more than the man's puppet.

"Stop it." I say and he is given new words.

"Nice touch this- the Pool- where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too- stop his heart." He pauses and grimaces a bit at the last statement before saying it.

"Who are you?" I call out. Another door opens and a familiar voice responds, falsetto and whiny.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call." The pouter says. He starts to walk towards the open.

"Is that a British army Browning L1A9 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" He mocks.

"Both." I reply, bringing out the gun John brought to the flat and aiming it at him.

"Jim Moriarty." He says, rather redundantly. Of course at this point I know he's Moriarty. "Hi." He says in the voice he used before. He continues forward while I don't respond. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Huh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Well I suppose that was rather the point." I continue to keep the gun focused on him but look over towards John and see that blasted red dot still trained on him.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding a rifle. I don't like to get my hands dirty." Jim says, obviously pointing out that to kill him would also entail signing the doctor's death warrant. I don't shoot, but the gun stays put on Moriarty.

"I've given you a glimpse Sherlock, just a tiny little glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist you see. Like you."

"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister. Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America." I run through the list of some of the cases I've recently solved.

"Just so." He confirms my idea.

"A consultant criminal. Brilliant." I say, both impressed and very aggravated.

"Isn't it?" Moriarty shoots back cockily and prideful. John seems uncomfortable and is staring towards the ground. Silent during the exchange. Then he looks up.

"No one ever gets to me." Moriarty declares. "And no one ever will." He finishes with absolute confidence. I cock the hammer on the gun.

"I did." I state simply.

"You've come the closest. But now you're in my _way_."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean that as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah okay, maybe I did." He finishes our volley, while shrugging. "But the flirting's over Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now." His voice raises in pitch towards the end of the sentence. He's enjoying this; toying with me. "Shown you what I can do. Cut loose all those people. All those little problems. Even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, or idea: back off. Although I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." I reply curtly.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty shouts at the end, his voice thundering across the room. He is absolutely, brilliantly mad.

"I will stop you." I inform him.

"No you won't." He says and shrugs again, still so sure of himself. I turn my attention to the man strapped with a bomb.

"You alright?" I ask. He doesn't speak until Moriarty gives him permission.

"You can talk; Jonny boy." He says while leaning in. "Go ahead." Even then he just gives me a nod of reassurance. I hold forth the drive.

"Take it." I demand. I could care less about the stupid plans now. All I want is for that red beam to be taken from my only friend's chest.

"Ah, that. The missile plan. "Moriarty kisses them. "Boring. I could have got them anywhere." He throws them into the water and seeing an opportune moment John runs forward and grasps Jim.  
"Sherlock run!" He instructs as his hold tightens around him and Jim laughs.

"Oh ho ho! Good! Very good!" Moriarty says and I am still there with the gun pointed, not willing to leave John alone with the psychopath.

"That sniper pulls the trigger Mr. Moriarty and we both go up." John informs him, still being that quaint man I've grown closer to than my own brother.

"He's sweet. I can see why you like having him around. Then people do get so sentimental about their pets. So touchingly loyal. Oops!" He yells as the doctor holds him while he struggles. "You've rather shown your hand there Dr. Watson." He says and I notice his gaze turn to my forehead. Obviously the sniper is now aiming at me and I shake my head to stop John from doing anything stupid like trying to save my life. He looks concerned and then releases Moriarty, backing away with his hands in the air.

"Got'cha." He says in that stupid falsetto. The dot has returned to its original position, the doctor now its target again. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh let me guess, I get killed?" I deadpan.

"Kill you? No, don't be obvious. I mean I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no no. If you don't stop prying... I will burn you. I will burn... the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true." Jim says and I know immediately he's pointing out that I care about at least _someone_.

"Well, I'd better be off." Moriarty says while glancing around. "It was so nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?" I question, moving the gun for emphasis.

"Then you cherish the look of surprise on my face." He says and gives a mock face. "'Cause I would be surprised Sherlock. Really; I would. And also just a teensy bit… disappointed." Again he throws the fact he has all the cards here in my face while reminding me of John. "And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." John would die obviously. Me too probably.

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He walks out with the gun trailing his movements.

"Catch. You. Later." I assure him.

"No you won't." He replies in a falsetto yet again. I keep the gun trained for a moment more and then drop it, fumbling to free the doctor of the bomb as the light has disappeared.

"You alright?" I ask first in a low voice. "Are you alright?" I say louder when he doesn't answer, feeling mildly panicked.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He replies as I wrestle the coat off him. My movements are frantic and he seems to notice it.

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" He calls as I don't respond and slide the bomb away from him. I run to try to find Moriarty. He's gone. When I reenter John is calming down from the stress of being strapped to enough explosives to blow a house to pieces and is on the ground. I pace anxiously and scratch my head with the gun, not even caring it's loaded.

"You okay?" John asks me and I'm surprised he even bothered. I wasn't the one with the bomb on me.

"Me? Yeah. Fine, fine. That uh, that thing that you did, you offered to do, that was, good." I say trying to figure out how to express my gratitude and acknowledge that I do actually appreciate it.

"I'm glad no one saw that." He says.

"Mm?" I ask.

"You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

"They do little else." I reply and we both chuckle, our nerves starting to be more at ease. Then the beam of red light is back, this time on both of us and multiplied by three.

Moriarty comes back in and apologizes, saying he changed his mind. That he being changeable was his only weakness. I look to my flat-mate, friend, and partner in deduction and he gives me a slight nod. Moriarty is saying how he would try to convince us otherwise of how we cannot continue on but everything he could say has already crossed my mind.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." I say and shift the aim of the gun to the explosive parka. It's a gamble, but it's our only chance of getting out alive and I won't give the satisfaction to Moriarty for my death, or the death of my first friend. The ball is now in his court, but I'm sure I know his answer. Still, the decision is his and both the doctor and I await our fate to be chosen, all of us are tense and waiting for the choice. Hopefully he'll pick the right one.


	2. Chapter 2

The Pool

**John's POV**

"I brought you a little getting to know you present." He says, and I grimace as I know what is coming next.

"So did I!" That voice hisses into the plastic ear piece and I feel my skin crawl.

"It's what it's all been for isn't it?" Sherlock continues with the same confidence. "All your puzzles, making me dance; all to distract me from this."

"Go on Johnny boy. Make daddy proud!" I feel nauseous as I have to step forward and out the cool metal door and face the man I've so grown to respect, to trust. I don't have much of a choice if I don't want Sherlock to be shot. The man who has made me another pawn in this game made that clear. If not, I would have killed the sadistic psychopath when I had the chance for the man doing this is truly one. He isn't like Sherlock. If Anderson met him he would finally understand the difference between psychopath and sociopath.

"If you want your friend to stay alive, you have to do exactly as I say." He had informed me over the ear piece as I awoke from a drugged stupor. Then the sniper had entered with the explosives. I was about to lash out when the sentence finally hit home. I was slow to understanding because, as often as it seems to be happening with me associating with Sherlock, I am just not adjusted to being drugged. My mind flashes back to the present as the orders are given.

"Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock?" I say, carefully making my face blank as I notice the surprise and hurt flickering in Sherlock's intelligent gray eyes. It goes from shock to devastation to reluctant acceptance in a matter of seconds and my throat clenches. He thinks that it's me! That I am the one behind all this! The sad realization dawning in his eyes hurts more than any other thing I have ever experienced, including being shot. Blinking rapidly I send out a pattern set pattern in Morse code for SOS like my training has taught me. The hand holding up the missile plans slowly has been brought back down and he starts to address me, the person he thinks is his enemy.

"John, what the h***-"he starts and I am given more words to speak, salt to rub into the wound.

"Bet you never saw this coming." I manage to get out, though it is excruciating.

"Alright John-John, open your coat. Let's not keep him in the dark too long. I don't want that light of his to dim because of all that stupid sentiment." I am honestly relieved that I can show him the vest of explosives upon me. Now he will know.

"What- would you like me- to make him say- next?" the understanding is shown if only for a brief moment upon his face and I see relief which must be a reflection of my own spark in his gaze only to harden in a fury.

"Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' g-" I am forced to puppet, the humiliation of it alright to shoulder now that I am sure Sherlock is on my side once again. But he stops and I can see rage now. Never before has he shown so much emotion in any circumstance and I suddenly regret the thoughts I had earlier of him being an uncaring and inhuman machine.

"Stop it." Sherlock orders, his jaw clenching as his eyes search for the man antagonizing us both or perhaps the sniper who has his red laser point trained upon the largest pack of semtex upon the vest. Another set of words for me to give.

"Nice touch this- the Pool- where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too- stop his heart." I grimace a bit before saying that last part, seeing the panic in his eyes.

"Who are you?" Sherlock demands, having enough of the ventriloquist act. The ear piece cuts off in a small burst of static and a whiny falsetto calls out to him.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call." Jim from IT says. I can honestly say I didn't see that one coming. I hadn't had the privilege of meeting my abductor face to face yet. He said I wasn't worth his time. He eyes Sherlock and gives him an almost smirk.

Is that a British army Browning L1A9 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" He mocks. I honestly am tiring of his flirting for one. It is just so inappropriate for this drama worthy of movie more that real life. I feel like I'm in the middle of a bad spy movie.

"Both." Sherlock replies simply and brings his gun to bear on Jim. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if he just looks through my stuff when bored.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi." Jim not from IT says. He pushes on when Sherlock doesn't respond. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Huh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Well I suppose that was rather the point." He keeps the gun focused on him but glances over at me and while I appreciate the gesture I wish he'd stop worrying about me and find a way out of this mess for us both. Thinking was his area of expertise after all.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding a rifle. I don't like to get my hands dirty." Moriarty smiles at Sherlock and Sherlock's gaze hardens. I feel a bit like a damsel in distress here with all the direct threats to me and the utterly helpless position I am in.

"I've given you a glimpse Sherlock, just a tiny little glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist you see. Like you." What does he mean by that?

"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister. Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America." I suddenly understand as Sherlock rattles off the cases we've been forced to solve.

"Just so." Jim confirms Sherlock's suspicion.

"A consultant criminal. Brilliant." Now this I roll my eyes at. Only Sherlock would feel the need to compliment a psychotic serial killer and bomber.

"Isn't it?" Moriarty shoots back cockily and prideful. I have felt very ill at ease during the conversation and decided the floor was a good place to fix my gaze upon for the past few remarks. I look up again to see how he will respond.

"No one ever gets to me." Moriarty declares. "And no one ever will." Sherlock seems to very much be in disagreement with that.

"I did." He says while cocking the gun.

"You've come the closest. But now you're in my _way_."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean that as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah okay, maybe I did." Jim shrugs and I feel sickened at his nonchalant way of treating this as one big game. "But the flirting's over Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now." His voice raises in pitch towards the end of the sentence. He's enjoying this; toying with him, and I have to watch. "Shown you what I can do. Cut lose all those people. All those little problems. Even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, or idea: back off. Although I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." Sherlock reminds him.

"That's what people DO!" He screams, his voice echoing in the empty pool, sending ripples across the gently lapping water. It chills me to the chore and reminds me, if only faintly, of Sherlock's discussion with me earlier.

"I will stop you." He informs him.

"No you won't." He says and shrugs again, still so nauseatingly sure of himself.

"You alright?" I jolt a bit at the sudden and very direct question. Sherlock looks anxious and I see his eyes looking me over for any sign of injury. I want to respond, but then remember my earlier set of instructions and keep quiet.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead." Moriarty taunts me while leaning in and as his breath runs across my skin I feel goose bumps start to rise. Unsure of how steady my voice will be, I decide the best bet would be to nod. Which I proceed to do.

Sherlock holds out the flash drive.

"Take it." He demands of Moriarty. I want to tell him to not be so stupid, that that could have the potential to kill millions in this maniacs hands but I am pretty sure my limited opportunity for speaking is over.

"Ah, that. The missile plan. "Moriarty kisses them. "Boring. I could have got them anywhere." He throws them into the water and seeing an opportune moment I lunge forward and wrap my arms around Moriarty while giving Sherlock a direct order.

"Sherlock, run!" Of all the times to show sentiment, when it could cost us both our lives, he stays put. The gun is still upon Moriarty and I doubt he plans on changing that position anytime soon.

"Oh ho ho! Good! Very good!" Moriarty says.

"That sniper pulls the trigger Mr. Moriarty and we both go up." I grind out.

"He's sweet. I can see why you like having him around. Then people do get so sentimental about their pets. So touchingly loyal. Oops!" He squirms and I tighten my hold on him. "You've rather shown your hand there Dr. Watson." And then my heart skips a beat. The laser has found its way to Sherlock's forehead and the direct threat upon his life makes me surrender. I back away in defeat.

"Got'cha." He says in that stupid falsetto. "Westwood." He smoothed out his suit that I crinkled. I feel a small triumph in the fact that I could at least cause him that annoyance. Okay, I'm grasping at straws here.

"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh let me guess, I get killed?" Sherlock deadpans.

"Kill you? No, don't be obvious. I mean I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no no. If you don't stop prying... I will burn you. I will burn... the_ heart _out of you." That gives me another set of shivers.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock replies and I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

"But we both know that's not quite true." Jim says and I feel somehow that this has to do with my being here in the first place.

"Well, I'd better be off." Moriarty says while glancing around. "It was so nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?" He questions, moving the gun for emphasis.

"Then you cherish the look of surprise on my face." He says and gives a mock face. "'Cause I would be surprised Sherlock. Really; I would. And also just a teensy bit… disappointed." Another barb as I remember our earlier discussion. "And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He walks out with the gun trailing his movements.

"Catch. You. Later." Sherlock promises.

"No you won't." He replies in a falsetto yet again. He keeps the gun trained for a moment more and then drops it, rushing over to me as I start to breathe a bit faster with the adrenaline finally taking its toll.

"Alright?" He asks first in a low voice. "Are you alright?" He says louder when I don't answer, sounding mildly panicked.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." I mumble.

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" I call as he doesn't respond and slides the bomb away from me. He tries to run after Moriarty and my legs give way with me tumbling to the floor. When he reenters he scratches his head with the still loaded piece but I'm too tired to care.

"You okay?" I ask; feeling a bit worried about him now.

"Me? Yeah. Fine, fine. That uh, that thing that you did, you offered to do, that was, good." He stutters and I try to make things a bit more normal.

"I'm glad no one saw that."

"Mm?" He questions.

"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

"They do little else." We both laugh, our nerves now steadying as the danger has passed.

Then the beam of red light is back, this time on both of us and multiplied by three.

Moriarty comes back in and apologizes, saying he changed his mind. Sherlock looks to me and I can tell his mind is whirring, coming up with a way out of this. He looks to me for a confirmation of trust in the next action he takes. I nod. I completely trust him. Moriarty is saying how he would try to convince us otherwise of how we cannot continue on but everything he could say has already crossed my mind.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock retorts and turns the gun on him first, but then moves it to the bomb. I hold my breath, pulse racing, and wait. Wait to see what will become of us, the choice left to a mad man. Not the most encouraging thing.


End file.
